Payback's a Bitch and Drunk Ass White Chick

I just got a text message as I sit here in chilly Mississippi this morning. The replacement at my old job got fired! Not even two months and she was canned.

So, Sherri. What do you think about that?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Really? Is that really what you think?

Well, really I think: WWWAAAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Don't you think that's a little juvenile?

Kind of. You're right.

Here's a quote on the record:

"It's truly ironic that the person they replaced me with, who needed to be more professional, was fired for being unprofessional. Oh yeah....and, 'ha'.

Thank you. Thank you very much. :)

______________________

Okay. So on to the "drunk ass" part.

I did "party like it's 1999" on Monday night as earlier promised. I was wearing my new sweater, fuzzy pink, really awesome. My hair was looking extremely good. I was wearing my best jeans to show off my badonkadonk. I was on fire people.

I sat down at the blackjack table at the casino next to a rather large black man and was informed, "We play for keeps here." I can only assume that he didn't want some drunk ass white chick sitting next to him ruining his good betting streak. Don't worry. He was nice. He even tipped the waitress $5. for the drunk ass white chick who told the entire blackjack table her sob story about how it was her birthday and how she was supposed to be in Cancun.

Moving on to craps. My husband and I don't really know how to play so we stood next to some guys who gave us an impromtu lesson. I then proceeded to tell the entire craps table my sob story about how it was my birthday and I was supposed to be in Cancun (see a pattern here?). I then asked the guy at the craps table, "Aren't I supposed to blow on your dice?" A risky move, I know. He said, "Of course you are, here." I blew on the dice and he immediately rolled craps. He turned to me and said, "What kind of breath do you have?" Nice.

I then moved over to the slots. My mom said I had to play the "I Dream of Jeanie" slot. It's her favorite. We searched the entire casino floor and asked 4 attendents. Finally we found it. There was a woman playing at the machine beside it and a rather large black woman who looked tired and angry was sitting in front of the machine I wanted. She wasn't playing so I went up to her and politely asked, "May I play that machine?" She gave me an evil look to which I responded, "Well, my mother told me I had to." I don't think she cared. I did not tell her the "it's my birthday/Cancun" story. I had the feeling I should leave well enough alone.

So that was three days ago. I picked my beautiful fuzzy pink sweater up off of the floor this morning. It needed to be washed. I looked down at it and noticed something. The "L" sticker was stuck right on the front of the sweater. Apparently I had worn it all night with that on the side of my left boob. Nice.